


The Sign of Three: A Reader's Journey

by smoltastic



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, F/M, Friendship/Love, Jealousy, Mary Morstan and John Watson's Wedding, Reader has feelings, Reader-Insert, Weddings, but set slightly later than canon, johnlock if you squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2019-10-19 12:37:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17601491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoltastic/pseuds/smoltastic
Summary: Join Sherlock Holmes as he faces the daunting task of delivering a Best Man's speech at John's wedding. However, things take a turn when the possibility of a murder looms large at the reception.





	1. Emergency. Baker St.

“Sir, please let me through, I live here!” you exclaimed, exasperated at the armed police officer stationed in front of the black door. Letting out a huff, you fished in your pockets and pulled out a set of keys, dangling it in front of the officer’s stoic face.

He took a long look at your haggled appearance and with a low grunt, moved aside to let you in.

Finding the door to your residence unlocked, you rushed in going up the flights of steps two at a time. It could not have been that long since you frantically left the lab in response to receiving a short, concise text sent by your boss:

_Emergency. Baker St._

Two words which never meant good news especially when they came in the same text. An “Emergency” could either mean he blew up the entire god-damn living room, or that he couldn’t be arsed to grab a pen from the table just beside him. There was no in-between.

Walking in tentatively not really knowing what to expect, you found your boss, Detective Inspector Lestrade, seated on the sofa with his head held in his hands. You locked eyes with Sherlock Holmes, who was sat at the table with his laptop open in front of him, looking particularly uncomfortable and at unease.

Sheet music was strewn all over the floor you noticed, possibly as a result of the open window. Apart from that, nothing looked out of the ordinary. You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding in.

“What the hell is going on here?!” Your eyes moved between your boss and the detective in search for an explanation.

“Tell him Y/N,” Lestrade spoke out, his voice muffled through his hands.

“Tell him what? That you have all of London’s police units stationed outside? You would think you have Mycroft himself held hostage here in Baker Street!”

“Tell him,” Lestrade started slowly, this time looking up with his eyebrows creased in annoyance, a look you knew all too well, “why it is not OKAY, to send out SOS texts-”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I _did_ say please.”

“-like the over dramatic damsel-in-distress he thinks he really is when in reality all he needs help with is a bloody Best Man’s speech!” Lestrade went on, completely ignoring Sherlock.

Letting out a sigh, you walked over to close the window shut in hopes of drowning out the blaring of the police sirens from outside. You turned to look over at Sherlock with an eyebrow raised, “You did what now?”

“All I did was ask _nicely,_ for a little help and he shows up with all of…” he paused to flap his hands about, “ _this_.”

“Sherlock, I have been following the Waters gang for months now and I was this close to arresting them,” said the Inspector, becoming louder with every word he uttered. “And after everything that has happened with the-” Lestrade paused to look away and rubbed a hand across his forehead. He continued, this time his voice softer, “You need to know the difference between asking for help when you _really_ need it and asking for help when you need help with something like writing a speech.”

“Oh where’s the fun in that!” Sherlock scoffed.

Finally getting a grasp of what actually transpired between the two, you could not ignore the comedic nature of the situation in front of you. It was inappropriate but you couldn’t help but let a small smile grace your features as the two continued to bicker. Two of the smartest men you knew and they were so terrible at communicating?

Lestrade stopped mid-sentence when he noticed the amusement you were failing terribly at trying to hide.

“How is this funny?” Lestrade looked at you in disbelief.

“No! I-It’s not, it’s just- this could have easily been avoided if you, I don’t know, just gave him a call before calling maximum security and abandoning-”

“Oh yes! This is my fault for looking out for a friend!” cried Lestrade, obviously infuriated with how this situation turned out for him.

“Inspector-” you tried to argue as he got up.

“You two of you are fucking perfect for each other,’ mumbled Lestrade. “Maybe it’s your wedding we should have prepared for instead!”

“We’re not-!”

“Get back to work. I have to disband security and hope that I don’t get suspended,” Lestrade muttered, brushing past you to the door.

Once the door downstairs slammed shut, you turned around to look at Sherlock with a passive look on your face, all traces of amusement gone.

“Sherlock...”

“That was a tad dramatic of him don’t you think,” Sherlock let out a huff, turning back to his laptop as if the last few minutes never occurred.

“Sherlock that was not very nice. This was his big break, the man’s been following the Waters gang for about a year. Next time, maybe word your texts properly to prevent such inconveniences, okay?”

Sherlock turned around in his chair to face you, holding up a book titled _‘HOW TO WRITE AN UNFORGETTABLE BEST MAN SPEECH’_.

"I need your help with this, pleeeease?” Sherlock pleaded, looking up towards you with a look in his eyes that could rival a six year old’s desperate attempt at getting more toys.

You rolled your eyes at the Detective’s childish behaviour; berating Sherlock now would just be a waste of time.

“I have to get back to work.” You made your way towards the door.

“Oh don’t be shy Y/N, you must have at least a dozen funny stories about John!”

"Apologise to Lestrade,” you paused at the door, turning your head to look at Sherlock. “Maybe _this_ could be your funny story,” you said with a smirk before walking out, glad that the roaring police sirens from earlier had started to simmer down.


	2. We Were Road-Testing

The morning of John and Mary’s wedding commenced as any other day would with you in the kitchen having breakfast all by yourself.

Over three months have passed since you’ve moved into the 221B residence and you were still not used to how little eating was actually done on the dining table. Understandable, as on most days, much of the dining space was jam-packed with beakers and animal/human remains.

While you have been sharing a flat with Sherlock for a while now, you have been friends with him and John for much longer. You met the detective and his blogger on an intriguing murder case, and repetitively after that due to the nature of your work with Scotland Yard. Since then, you’ve had a blossoming friendship with John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

Getting up to place the empty plate in the sink, you scowled at the sight of it in front of you.

You knew what you were roping yourself into when you moved into your current abode. It was only after your best friend moved out of your old flat to move in with her boyfriend, that John suggested you move in to his old, vacant room when he found out you were looking for a new flatmate to share rent with. After much deliberation, you decided to move in, well-aware of the eccentric lifestyle and habits of the famous detective. Some days you wished you hadn’t, but on most days you were too caught up tagging along to the enthralling life of Sherlock Holmes to give it much thought. You’ve almost forgotten what it felt like to be bored.

You proceeded to wash your plate and placed it on the rack to dry when the sound of a violin playing a gentle waltz broke your train of thought. Drying your hands, you made your way out of the kitchen and found Sherlock in his tan coloured dressing gown adjusting his phone over the speakers in the living room.

“Thought that was you.”

“It is,” he said with his back still turned on you.

“Sounds beautiful,” you smiled. You often wondered how a man as hard-hearted as Sherlock Holmes could compose such beautiful music.

“Mmm,” he hummed, turning around to find you leaning against the door frame and moved to walk towards you.

“Hopefully my dance classes haven’t been a complete waste of time,” he stopped in front of you and held out both of his hands.

You shook your head, but before you could say no, he had already taken both of your hands in his and dragged you towards the centre of the living room.

You groaned. There was no denying the man when he wanted something.

You placed your left hand on his shoulder as he placed his right on your shoulder blade, while your other remained grasped in his. For someone with such a cold demeanour, his hands were always surprisingly warm.

Sherlock took the lead and moved the both of you to the sound of the waltz. His movements were graceful and effortless as always. Trying to follow his movements, your eyes automatically darted down to look at your feet, making sure you were not stepping on his.

“Ah yes, the top of your head is lovely as always Y/N,” he drawled out.

You snapped your neck up to glare at him and plastered a sickly, sweet smile on your face. “Why, thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

“Even John is a better dancer than you are,” he winced as you ‘accidentally’ stepped on his toes

“With all the practice you two have had, I won’t be surprised. Apparently Mrs. Turner next door thought it was the two of you getting married.”

“And I made the mistake of assuming you were well above the idle chatter of our neighbours,” he said with a slight raise of his eyebrow and hushed you when you opened your mouth to speak.

Instead, you proceeded to focus on the music reverberating through the room. As the movements became more familiar to you, the two of you began to move fluidly to the sound of the music, gradually moving closer to one another.

Everything was perfect. The music. The waltz. The man.

You were caught off guard as Sherlock removed the hand on your shoulder to twirl you around and you couldn’t help but giggle softly, a soft smile also playing on his lips. This time as you spun back to face him, his other hand was placed gently on the small of your back. Your knees wobbled slightly as he began to lead again. The two of you were so close, you could feel Sherlock’s breathe tickle your forehead...

You started to lose sense of the soft melody of the violin as your heart began to pound; slowly at first and gradually loud enough, almost deafening you.

_Fuck._

Any louder and Sherlock would probably be able hear it, and with how close in proximity the two of you were, he probably did...

“I-It is beautiful,” you stuttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “The music, I mean.”

Before Sherlock could respond, the door to the living room swung open and you immediately let go off Sherlock and moved to increase the distance between the two of you. Looking over to find the source of intrusion, you found Mrs. Hudson at the door with a tray of tea, a knowing smile on her face.

“Morning, Mrs. H!” you said, your voice slightly higher than usual, while at the same time Sherlock mumbled, “Shut up, Mrs. Hudson.”

Sherlock reluctantly let his hands fall by his sides; a look on his face you couldn’t quite put a finger on. You had no idea why you felt the need to let go off Sherlock as quickly as you did, feeling slightly guilty for doing so. Something about the thought of Mrs. Hudson walking in on the two of you dancing so intimately made you blush.

All of you had been practicing dancing in pairs in preparation for the big day. But this time with no one else around it was different; it was… intimate. You already missed the warmth of his hands in yours and his strong arms encircled around you. And the way his soft breathe tickled the tiny hairs around your face... You loved the ever-cheerful landlady but right now, a small part of you had the insistent urge to fling the little tea tray out of her hands.

“I haven’t said a word,” Mrs. Hudson replied.

“You’re formulating a question. It’s physically painful watching you thinking,” Sherlock sighed as he moved towards the centre table. “And look, you’ve made Y/N uncomfortable.”

Your eyes widened and you felt a blush creep up on your cheeks. “I-I’m fine.”

Sherlock gave you look that said he clearly didn’t believe you.

“I thought it was you playing.”

“It _was_ me playing.” He gestured towards the speaker, switching it off and bending down to make a notation on the sheet music. “I am composing.”

“You two were dancing,” Mrs. Hudson said, placing the tray down on the side table, a small smile still etched on her face.

“We were road-testing.”

“You what?”

Sherlock threw down his pen, turned around sharply and gave Mrs. Hudson an irritated look. “Why are you here?”

You sighed at the man’s ability to be so blunt. “Sherlock, be nice. She brought you your morning tea.” You sat down on the sofa, suddenly feeling very tired.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head as she poured some milk into the teacup, “You’re not usually awake.”

“You bring me tea in the morning?” asked Sherlock sitting down on his chair, an incredulous look marred on his face.

“Well, where d’you think it came from?” Mrs. Hudson rebutted as she chuckled in disbelief.

“I don’t know. I just thought it sort of… happened.”

You let out a small laugh and scoffed, “That might be your best deduction so far detective!” earning you a glare from the said detective.

The landlady shook her head as she handed Sherlock his tea, “Your mother has a lot to answer for.”

“I know. I have a list. Mycroft has a file.”

The two of you giggled. “I’d love to sit and chat and know more about the contents of the file you mention, but I have to get dressed,” you said as you got up.

“Oh Y/N, have some tea with us!” the older lady called back.

You threw a small smile at Mrs. Hudson’s direction, “You two carry on. Don’t want to be late for the wedding!”

Your made your way up the wooden stairs to your room and grinned as you heard Mrs. Hudson excitedly say to Sherlock, “So, it’s the big day then!-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this work was made ten times easier thanks to arianedevere's transcript. Here's a link if you want to check it out: https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/65379.html
> 
> Also, the wedding takes place much later than it did in the show for the sake of the story, But otherwise, nothing has changed.
> 
> Hope you like it so far!


	3. Mary's a Lucky Woman

The much-awaited wedding ceremony was a lovely affair. Mary looked beautiful as ever in her ivory-coloured wedding dress, complete with a dazzling smile etched on her face. She was absolutely glowing as she stood next to John at the altar, who looked utterly fixated on his new wife.

John looked the happiest you had ever seen him to be; he looked dapper and radiant and had an air of confidence about him that was hard to miss. Mary was good for him and he deserved happiness after everything that this life had thrown at him.

Sherlock on the other hand was the complete opposite. He looked stiff and impassive as he stood next to John. His eyes would occasionally drift to yours and you would give him a reassuring smile.

Just a few hours ago, you had found Sherlock anxiously pacing the living area. It was not an uncommon sight, having seen Sherlock in a state much similar when working on cases. At the sight of you at the door, he began to vent about weddings and love and marriages and how utterly stupid and pointless it all was.

You could deal with a Sherlock Holmes pacing, and ranting, and desperately trying to piece the pieces together to catch an offending criminal. But this version of him was a rare sight, with which you had not previously dealt with.

You, and everyone else for that matter, knew how rattled Sherlock was with the entire wedding situation. He brushed it off whenever someone hinted at it; trying desperately to show how unfazed he was with the whole ordeal. He was not one to welcome change with open arms and he could deny it all he wanted; that marriage was just an elaborate contract between two people followed by a false celebration. Why would _that_ change absolutely anything? But a small part of him could already sense how quickly he was becoming more and more disconnected from his best friend. He would never admit it out loud, but he mourned the good old days of when it was just him and John against the rest of the world.

Which is why you had been rendered speechless at the sight of the ever-composed and poised detective letting his guard down in front of you, inadvertently admitting to the fact that he was indeed, terrified of what was to follow.

_Talk about wedding nerves_

_“Sherlock hey, you’re going to be okay,"_ you had tried to reassure him, placing your hand firmly on his arm. _“Everything is going to be fine. Before you know it, all of this is going to be over and everything will be back to the way it was.”_

_The wedding, yes._ Hopefully there was no double meaning to what you had said.

It was a pathetic attempt at trying to calm him down, you were aware, nevertheless it got him to stop pacing. He finally made note of your appearance, and proceeded to make a rather quick scan down the length of your body. Such an act would usually leave you feeling uncomfortable and fidgety, but seeing the circumstances you smirked at him playfully.

_“Like what you see?”_   you had said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

He frowned in response.

_"You look nice. Handsome, even.”_

He didn’t say anything for a while and then, _“You’ve opted for a necklace of a shorter length in an attempt at drawing attention to your face rather than to your rather small…”_ he paused upon noticing you purse your lips, and then mumbled quietly _, “I suppose you don’t look too bad either.”_

A compliment was always a compliment no matter in what shape or form it was delivered, especially when it came from Sherlock. You couldn't help but smile at the thought.

Breaking out of your train of thought, you watched as John and Mary exchanged their wedding vows and placed a hand on Mrs. Hudson’s arm on the seat next to you as she wiped away her tears.

Soon, everyone filed out of the church and elated chatter filled the area. The wedding photographer took multiple pictures of the newly-weds and then proceeded to take a variety of photos of the guests. You found yourself taking a few with Mrs. Hudson, Mary, and her bridesmaids.

Presently, you found yourself sandwiched between John and Sherlock, your arms looped around theirs as the photographer clicked away. You squeezed John’s arm and congratulated him. “So, how’s life as a married man so far?”

Before John could answer, Sherlock quipped from beside you, “So far he’s been bombarded with congratulatory wishes from people he just met five minutes ago and, we can now call Mary Mrs Watson and no one bats an eye. This whole thing is a farce designed to meet the social requirements to ‘fit into society’ and nothing more, so how _could_ his life be any different?”  

John sighed and craned his neck around to look at Sherlock, “Married life not treating you well then, mate?”

You giggled. Sherlock rolled his eyes as a flash went off.

“You’re going to look awful in all of these if you keep doing that, Sherlock.”

“Thanks to John, the internet is filled with pictures of me with that stupid hat on. It can’t get any worse.”

A few clicks later, you and John moved aside as the photographer continued taking pictures of the best-man who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

John turned to you and smiled brightly.

“Y/N, all of this is.. wonderful. She’s great and… I am so happy.” He ran a hand through his hair and shyly looked away.

His happiness was infectious and your heart fluttered at the way he looked over at his new wife. You moved to give him a hug which he returned enthusiastically.

“Mary’s a lucky woman,” you said as you tightened the hug.

John released you from the hug but not before he held you at an arm's length, quickly giving you a once-over. “Y/N you look great,” he said with a hint of awe in his voice.

“Oh John, if only you’d realised this a few hours ago we could’ve eloped!” you whispered, winking at him playfully.

John laughed softly. “You know, weddings are the perfect opportunity to meet a few people and if things click-“

“Oh my God, not you too!” you huffed out in exasperation. Why was everyone trying to get you laid? Mrs Hudson had been trying to hook you up with a bunch of men (and a woman too once you rejected her third choice and she thought she knew where the problem was) for the past few months. You made a mental note to ask her how she was friends with so many attractive people.

You looked away to find Sherlock and the chief maid-of-honour, Janine, chatting away whilst they got their photos taken and whatever John said next went completely past you.

Something about the way she eyed Sherlock rubbed you in the wrong way. Sure, this was Sherlock and he would rather jump off a building (he _really_ would) than fall for any sexual/romantic advances, but it still irked you. Why did it matter though? It was not like you had any feelings for the Detective… you did once for a while but that was before you knew any better, and you were now well over it. Yet you couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy involuntarily overtake you as you saw her shrugging up to him and hooking herself onto his arms. You frowned in displeasure; a look not gone unnoticed by John and Mary.

In an effort to look at something else, you found Molly standing across from you, a sour look on her face as she too remained fixated on Sherlock and the pretty maid-of-honour on his arms.

_Dear God, I hope that’s not the same look I have on._

You sighed softly. You were well aware of the girl’s feelings for the Detective, and a small part of you knew that she was aware of yours too (whether you’d liked to admit it or not).

She looked over and locked eyes with you, and she smiled as you excused yourself to make your way towards her and Tom, her fiancé.

The two of you shared a few compliments and you shook hands with Tom; the man who had an uncanny resemblance to Sherlock but no one ever really brought it up. Not even Sherlock and he never kept his mouth shut.

You fell into step with the couple and followed the crowd as they made their way towards the reception.

“I heard you two started wedding planning. Fixed a date yet?” you asked in an attempt to make small-talk.

Tom’s eyes sparked up and he couldn’t hold in his excitement as he began to talk about venues, and dates, and their plan for a summer wedding. Molly however, had her eyes fixed on the retreating backs of Janine and Sherlock the whole time.

_Moved on my arse._

You on the other hand tried your best to ignore the couple in front of you. But when you did glance back at them, you felt a small smirk creep up on your face at the sight of Sherlock holding himself stiffly and slightly leaning away from Janine’s touch.

Soon enough, the gorgeous reception venue came into view and you watched as John, Mary, and Sherlock stood at the door to the reception space, greeting guests as they made their way in.

The trio of you stood a little far off. “Yeah, I think you answered her question Tom,” Molly said with a straight-lipped smile, stopping Tom in the midst of his discussion of his favourite wedding speeches.

You smiled sheepishly at him feeling terribly sorry for the guy, as an awkward silence ensued.

You almost let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Lestrade making his way towards the three of you, a drink already in his hand.

When he noticed the questioning glances around him he cried out, “It’s a free bar!”

* * *

“Is she married?”

“Yes.”

“Happily married?”

“Sadly, no.”

“A doctor?”

“Yes,” he said after a small pause.

The reception was abuzz with chatter and laughter, as you and Sherlock stood side-by-side a short distance away watching the other guests mingle. The two of you were playing a version of 21 questions based entirely on deductions. So far you were ten questions in.

“Is she wearing a green dress?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at you. “Making guesses by the process of elimination-”

“Yes or no?”

“That’s two questions down, and… yes,” he sighed in defeat.

You grinned and angled your head towards a a tall, blond woman standing in a circle of five people.

“There are only two middle-aged women wearing green in this room. One of them is single as seen by the lack of a wedding ring and that leaves only the one who, fortunately for you, is wearing a ring. Solving by the process of elimination is _not_ winning,” Sherlock drawled out.

You sniggered at the displeased look on his face and sipped on your drink. “The green dress was just a confirmation. Everything about her is perfect; her hair, her eyebrows... all except her nails. They’re too short and not manicured for someone of her appearance... so she must be a doctor. You wouldn’t want your doctor having long nails.”

At the slight nod of his head you continued, ”Also, the distance between her and her husband is odd, he’s angled away from her and she keeps leaning away from him and, he keeps fidgeting with his wedding ring unconsciously… married, but unhappily. An affair, I suppose?” you asked, looking up at Sherlock.

“Note how his phone is not password protected and neither is hers. No, there's no affair; they’ve just fallen out of love. A blessing in disguise if you ask me. Love is a mindless sentiment for the moronic idiot,” he spat out, his lips curling up at the mention of ‘love’. You watched his eyes drift over to John and Mary, the happy couple. The two of them seemed lost in each other and seemed to have little to no care of anything around them but themselves.

“They’re in love, they look happy,” you said, sighing softly as you watched Mary offer John a bite of her canapés _._

“Cocaine is cheaper and would also have the same effect.”

The man was brutally cynical and there was nothing you could say to change his mind. You just rolled your eyes in response.

“Back to our object of interest, the fidgeting is just a nervous habit manifesting from social anxiety, nothing to do with the state of his marriage. Notice how she still cares enough to ensure his tie is the same shade-”

“Oh shut up! I got it right,” you said smiling smugly and playfully nudging him with your shoulder.

Suddenly, a flash went off and you realised the photographer took a photo.

Before you could comprehend what happened, Sherlock moved closer and draped an arm around your shoulders. “Smile for the camera Y/N,” and you did, feeling a little light headed for some reason.

The two of you reverted back to the game, when you noticed Janine sauntering towards the both of you.

You inwardly groaned, but plastered a smile on your face anyways.

“Y/N! Hi! ” she said as she approached the two of you and placed a hand on your bare arm. She was the touchy kind you noted.

You’ve met Janine once before the wedding when you joined Mary for tea one day. She seemed nice and friendly back then, but that was before she started flirting with Sherlock

She was _still_ nice and friendly, you tried to reason. As far as you knew they were only conversing, why did that bother you so much?

“Sherlock here was helping me score a boyfriend tonight,” she said winking, as she squeezed her other arm around his.

“Uh, was he, now?” You chuckled awkwardly and glanced at Sherlock, who was looking down apprehensively at her hand clenched around his arm. Janine then proceeded to tell the two of you some of her past relationship woes when the sight of a waiter walking past them caught her attention.

“He’s nice,” Janine said, admiring the waiter.

“Traces of two leading brands of deodorant, both advertised for their strength, suggestive of a chronic body odour problem manifesting under stress,” Sherlock said with a sniff.

“Okay, done there. What about his friend?”

The two of you turned to look at where she was pointing. You watched as another waiter carefully pulled out a skewer from a large joint of roast beef.

“Long-term relationship, compulsive cheat.”

“Seriously?” Janine looked disappointed.

“Waterproof cover on his smartphone, yet his complexion doesn’t indicate outdoor work,” Sherlock said.

You grimaced. “He takes his phone in the shower. Someone's been sending naughty pictures.”

Sherlock nodded and added, “And, he often receives texts and emails he’d rather went unseen.”

“Can I keep you?” Janine asked suddenly, looking at Sherlock in awe.

“D’you like solving crimes?”

Janine’s eyes flicked to yours for a brief second and back to Sherlock’s.

“Do you have a vacancy?”

You looked away, uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading and felt like you really did not belong there.

You were wrong. She was definitely  _not_ nice.

An awkward silence ensued as Sherlock did not respond. He soon excused himself to go over to talk to Mary, while you excused yourself to get another drink.


	4. Pray Silence for the Best Man

****You watched Lestrade drink what was possibly his third drink of the day.

“How are you still not drunk?” you asked in wonderment.

Lestrade grinned as he drowned the liquid in response. 

You heard the scraping of a chair and turned to see Sherlock drop on the seat beside you.

“So _that's_ Major Sholto,” he huffed out, tilting his head in the direction of John chatting to a heavily scarred man clad in a military uniform. 

“John looks smitten,” you sniggered as Sherlock folded his arms in a child-like manner

Lestrade chuckled, “Looks like Sherlock wasn't his first.” 

You both laugh as Sherlock glared darkly at Lestrade. 

“So, no sign of Mycroft?” you asked after the laughter ceased down.

“Mycroft? And weddings? Not really the best of combinations, is it?” Sherlock said with a distant look on his face. “Actually now that you mention it-” 

Sherlock got up and left to presumably make a phone call. Soon the tables around you started filling up and dinner was served. You conversed with the pleasant company around you on the table as you made it through three courses of dinner. You often glanced towards Sherlock at the head table and found him playing around with his food, no doubt worried about what was to follow. You could only hope he would not screw it up.

Soon the tapping of a spoon against a champagne glass rang throughout the massive room followed with a “Pray silence for the best man.”

The guests broke into applause and cheer as Sherlock warily got on his feet. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends ... and ... erm ... others,” he stuttered.

He stopped and blinked for a while, followed with more stuttering between awkward pauses.

You look across the table, sharing a worried glance with Molly. She was the first one to point out that Sherlock would most definitely have to make a speech at the wedding and her anxiousness regarding the situation was blatantly obvious.

A whispered “Telegrams” echoed through the now silent room, presumably from John. Sherlock patted his pockets before realising the telegrams were in a pile in front of him. He cleared his throat and noticeably swallowed.

“First things first. Telegrams.” He reached for the pile of telegrams in front of him.

“Well, they’re not actually telegrams. We just _call_ them telegrams. I don’t know why. Wedding tradition,” he picked up the first card and sarcastically drawled out,” because we don’t have enough of that already, apparently.”

“To Mr and Mrs Watson. So sorry I’m unable to be with you on your special day. Good luck and best wishes, Mike Stamford.”

He read through a few more of the telegrams, becoming more and more uncomfortable at the wording of them. The tables around you giggled softly at Sherlock reading out words of endearment, his face contorting as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

He did not bother reading the rest of the cards, instead opting to work through them rapidly, “-bit of a theme, you get the general gist. People are basically _fond.”_

You shook your head in amusement at the detective’s not-so-surprising antics, glad that some of the guests too found it amusing.

“John Watson.” He gestured towards John _. “_ My friend, John Watson.” He paused again looking at John as John smiles up at him. “John.”

 _“_ When John first broached the subject of being best man, I was confused.”

Sherlock then proceeded to tell the story of when John asked him to be his best man and how utterly moved he was by the request, only to realise he had said nothing out loud and had been rendered speechless.

The room echoed with the laughter of the guests and you chuckled; Sherlock never imagined he would ever become anyone’s best friend let alone a best man.

Sherlock pulled out a handful of cue cards from his jacket pocket. “Done that. ... Done that ... Done that bit ... Done that bit ...” he paused to look at the guests and then back at John, “I’m afraid, John, I can’t congratulate you.”

Both Mary and John look up at him in surprise.

“All emotions, and in particular love, stand opposed to the pure, cold reason I hold above all things. A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world.”

The guests began to look uncomfortable and quiet murmurs broke out in the room. 

Lestrade and Molly had looks of horror etched on their faces. 

“Oh God,” you whispered quietly under your breath, terrified. 

“Today we honour the death-watch beetle that is the doom of our society and, in time – one feels certain – our entire species.”

The guests continued to stare at him in unadulterated shock. 

“But anyway… let’s talk about John.”

You audibly let out a sigh of relief. The speech was turning out to be a roller coaster of a ride.

* * *

“Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war, and injury, and tragic loss ... so sorry again about that last one ... so know this: today you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved – in short, the two people who love you most in all this world. And I know I speak for Mary as well when I say we will never let you down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that.”

With a single speech Sherlock Holmes had managed to leave his audience feeling a plethora of things. In just a span of five minutes the guests had felt shocked and uncomfortable at some of his offhanded remarks, amused at some of his unintentional jokes and actions and now, emotional and teary-eyed to what you could basically call his love letter to John Watson.

You discreetly tried to wipe away your tears with a serviette but there was no need to hide it - almost all the guests, and even the men, broke into sniffles and tried holding back tears. Mrs Hudson was practically crying.

“Ah, yes. Now on to some funny stories about John-” Sherlock trailed off when he noticed the shift in the mood of his audience,

“What’s wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that? John?” Sherlock visibly panicked, his eyes darting around the room. When he looked towards you, you put two thumbs up just visible enough for him to see and smiled at him reassuringly, your eyes still watering.

“Oh, Sherlock!” Mrs Hudson whined beside you, still wiping at her tears. You left a comforting hand on her arm.

John got up from his seat, giving Sherlock a tight hug. You grinned at the sight and joined the guests in applause, a single tear now escaping. 

“So, on to some funny stories-”

“Can you – can you wait ’til I sit down?”

Sherlock looked desperate to want to continue and stood awkwardly as the applause faded and John sat down.

“So, on to some funny stories about John.”

* * *

The next few minutes consisted of Sherlock reading out some of the more peculiar of cases from John’s blog as his take on the “funny stories about John.”

He moved on to relay the story of ‘The Bloody Guardsman’, one of the few cases which had left Sherlock bamboozled. While you had not been involved very much with the case and was not present at the scene of the crime, you were well aware of the nitty gritty details of the murder due to the fact that John would not stop talking about it in hopes of bringing Sherlock’s attention to it, who was surprisingly quite unnerved by the fact that he had left it unsolved. 

He busied himself with filling the living room with more Opera House serviettes and with planning the stag-do instead.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to consider this: a murderer who can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish – but in all of this there is only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable. Would anyone like to make a guess?” Sherlock looked expectantly at the crowd in front of him.

You noticed some of the guests start to fidget and look away, and smiled at how much it reminded you of a 6th grade classroom.

“Come on, come on, there is actually an element of Q and A to all of this.”

He grilled Lestrade for a theory; poor man was completely caught off guard and stammered as his dished out an incredulously daft theory. Tom was his next victim, who stood up on shaky feet and suggested an even more absurd of a theory, Molly practically fuming with rage and embarrassment beside him.

Finally he looked towards you and you groaned inwardly. 

_The bastard._

“Y/N. My friend and flatmate, also suggested a ridiculous theory of her own when John recalled the case to her. Have you perhaps considered why that was such a preposterous idea?”

You felt a blush creeping up your neck as dozens of eyes now planted on you. This was his way of probably getting back to you for all the times you nagged him about how he left the case of the bloody guardsman unsolved.

You cleared your throat.

“I-I had suggested an infected wound which-“ you stopped mid-sentence when you noticed him smile smugly at you. 

 _What an arrogant arse of a man_! 

Your momentary panic vanished and with a sudden air of confidence you looked at him with a defiant look in your eyes as you folded your arms. “Actually come to think of it, Tom’s theory is not as far-fetched as you think. It’s pretty hypocritical of you to turn ours down when _you_ haven't even solved the case yet.” 

Murmurs began to echo around the room and Sherlock’s smile faltered. You smirked. 

“Wait, you don’t know how it was done?! The stabbing?” Lestrade sprang up excitedly. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know. I didn’t solve that one. That’s,” he paused and you could feel the intensity of his stare from across the room seep into yours. “It can happen sometimes. It’s very ... very disappointing.”

You felt slightly awful then at putting Sherlock on the spot like that, the confidence that allowed you to speak out a few seconds ago vanishing.

“However the main point of it all was that there was one feature, and only one feature, of interest in the whole of this baffling case, and quite frankly it was the usual. John Watson – who, while I was trying to solve the murder, instead saved a life. There are mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling. The best and bravest man I know – and on top of that he actually knows how to do stuff."

Sherlock smiled down at John, a genuine smile which made your heart flutter. John smiled and lowered his head quickly, but you could see a faint blush tinting his neck, and you almost welled up again.

“-except wedding planning and serviettes – he’s rubbish at those.”

The guests broke into laughter.

“The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly-planned murder – or attempted murder – I’ve ever had the pleasure to encounter; the most perfect locked-room mystery of which I am aware. However, I’m not just here to praise John – I’m also here to embarrass him, so let’s move on to some embarrassing stories about john.”

* * *

 


End file.
